Title: THE SPIRIT QUEST Author: Amy Schatz E-mail: starbuck@ptd.net or starbuck@intergrafix.net Classification: MSR Spoilers: "One Breath," "End Game," "Tooms," "The Blessing Way," and "Paper Clip." Archive: YES, anywhere as long as my name is attached. The full text of this story is available on my website. Go to: http://members.fortunecity.com/sloan/spirit_index.html ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz Notes and Comments Writing this story has been an emotional journey for me encompassing about four years. I vividly remember the summer night in 1997 that I started writing it. I can't remember the exact impetus for the story, but I do remember thinking that I wanted to write a type or kind of XF story that was new to me; something I hadn't done before. I began the story - and as stories are wont to do - it took on a life of its own and soon I had a full-blown epic on my hands. I worked on the story not steadily, but whenever I had time or interest. As time passed, so would my interest, and I would set the story aside - sometimes for months at a time. One day, I suddenly realized that the story needed to go in a whole different direction. Scrapping a fair amount of pages, I did just that and never looked back. What I found when I was finally finished was "The Spirit Quest." To me, it is a story about the deep bond and love that I had always seen between Mulder and Scully. It is a story that tests that bond and love, stretching them to their limits. It is a story that shows just how far a love like that can take two people. Also, this is most likely my last XF fanfic, so it is really special to me. For a long time, the X-Files was a big part of my life that brought me a lot of happiness and a lot of friends, and I will always remember it that way, and not what it has become. DISCLAIMER: Obviously, I don't own Mulder or Scully or anyone else from the XF world that you might recognize. I did create Grant Putnam, and I named him after one of my favorite soap opera villains. THANKS AND GRATITUDE: I would never have finished this story without the help of the following: the Mysterious & Suspicious XF fanfic mailing list (who first saw this story so many years ago in one of its first incarnations); Melissa Rabey (a good friend and also a XF fanfic author), Megan Reilly (who gave me such great early, helpful comments); and finally Molly Sergel Walker (who kept asking me about this story and when it would be finished). Look, Molly! It's finished! ;-) Thanks for pushing me, Molly! You'll never know how much you helped with me this story. CREDIT: I use two poems in this story. The first is "To a Young Poet" by Edna St. Vincent Millay, and the second is a poem I found tucked between the pages of my mother's Bible. She does not remember where she got it or who wrote it, so I've decided to title it "The Spirit." Even though I don't know the author, it was so beautiful, I had to include it in the story. ARCHIVE: Take it anywhere -- as long as my name stays attached to it. ;-) Just send me a note and let me know where it's going. SUMMARY: Late one night, Mulder gets the worst news of his life. But as time passes, he comes to find that not all was as it seemed. Can he put the pieces together in time, and can he and Scully ever be truly free to live their lives? STORY SETTING: This story was hard to place in the XF universe, because I wrote a lot of it before a lot of stuff happened. However, I think I've figured it out. This story opens in the spring of 1998, and in my mind it takes place before "The End," and "Folie a Deux," (which, according to the show, begins on May 10, as does my story). So, basically, it happens a few weeks after "The Pine Bluff Variant", and in this alternate universe, "Folie a Deux" (cute as it was) and "The End" NEVER HAPPEN. Also, nothing that happened AFTER those episodes happens. So, there is NO Diana "The Foul One" Fowley. Scully does not get sick. There is no fire in the basement. There is no X-Files movie wherein Scully is abducted (yes, again!). She isn't bitten by a bee, and there is no "almost-kiss." In short, this story is my vision of how the show might have continued on from "The Pine Bluff Variant" -- all the way to the end of the series. SPOILERS: Although I've said that this story should be placed after "The Pine Bluff Variant" and other such S5 episodes, it makes no mention of them since those parts were written before those episodes existed. The only episodes referenced herein are the old classics: "One Breath," "End Game," "Tooms," "The Blessing Way," and "Paper Clip." SPIRIT QUEST SOUNDTRACK: I used a great deal of song snippets in this story. They're not in the actual story, but they do begin each section. I don't know why I do this, except that I enjoy it and I think they add a little something extra to the scenes -- they become the story's soundtrack *** Okay, so can you tell I haven't posted in a long time? Sorry about this repost, but I just noticed that when I changed my MS Word doc over to text, it messed up my ellipsis, and that just really annoys me. It also effects the meaning of every sentence in which they appear. So I had to fix them and repost. Sorry, once again. *** ----------------------------------------------------------------- THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART ONE: THE BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia May 10, 1998 1:45 am ------------------------------------------- I guess I thought you'd be here forever Another illusion I chose to create You don't know what you got until it's gone And I found out a little too late ------------------------------------------- The call came late one night. He was lying on his couch, dozing to the muted sounds of the television, when the phone rang. It rang five times before he was able to reach out to the coffee table and grab the phone, sleepily pressing the TALK button. "Mulder," he said gruffly. There was a strange silence before the caller spoke. "Agent Mulder?" Skinner. This was not what Mulder needed at this hour. "Sir, can this wait till tomorrow? I have an early meeting with the VCS about my profile." "No, Agent Mulder, it can't wait," Skinner answered, and then fell silent again. It was beginning to unnerve Mulder. Skinner always got straight to the point. He didn't hedge around things. Something had to be very wrong for Skinner to behave so strangely. "What is it, sir? What's wrong?" Mulder heard Skinner sigh. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, Agent Mulder, but I couldn't come to your apartment, because of situations out of my control. I'm afraid I have some...news..." Mulder felt his throat tighten and his heart rate nearly doubled. In his mind, he ran down the list of things that could be wrong, but all he kept returning to was Scully. Even after all that had happened, his heart still remembered. All he cared about was if she was all right. Nothing else mattered to him. "What news, sir?" he asked, dreading the answer. He knew that whatever it was, it would change his life forever. "Is Scully okay, sir? What is it? What happened?" Skinner sighed again, and that's when Mulder knew that something was wrong with Scully. Something had happened to her. "Agent Mulder, tonight a call was put in to the Huntington, Virginia police office. The caller said that they were driving on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, and saw a car veer off the road and go over into the Potomac. This occurred at approximately 10:45 pm." Skinner paused, and Mulder could barely take it. He just wished that whatever it was, Skinner would say it before Mulder's heart exploded. Skinner took a deep breath, and continued. "When the police investigated, they found the car, upside-down, about 150 yards offshore. The windows were open, and the windshield cracked. The air bag deployed, most likely due to the water impact. They believe that the individual was thrown from the car. They didn't, however, find a body, and they don't expect to. The current is strong there." Skinner paused again, and Mulder thought that he would scream at any moment. He knew that this was about Scully. He could feel it down to the very marrow of his bones, and he just wished that Skinner would tell him so he could start to do something about it. If she was lost, he would find her. If she was hurt, he would heal her. If she was in trouble, he would help her. If she was- "Mulder, the car was Agent Scully's. I'm sorry, Mulder, but she's..." Whatever Skinner said next, Mulder didn't hear. The phone dropped from his suddenly numb fingers, and he stared out into space, his mind racing, his soul crying out. Skinner began to call out Mulder's name. "Mulder? Mulder, are you there? Mulder? Mulder, I know you're probably in shock, but you have to pick up the phone." Mulder somehow managed to come out of his daze and grab the phone again. "I'm here." His voice sounded dead to his own ears. "Mulder, I'm terribly sorry. Even despite recent events, I know that you two were close. This was an awful accident. Scully was one of the best agents I have ever had the privilege of knowing, and this shouldn't have happened to her. I just want to-" "Where - EXACTLY - was her car found?" Mulder asked, cutting Skinner off. "Mulder, you are NOT going to the scene. Leave this alone for right now. You're not in any state to drive. You'd only be a danger to yourself and others." Mulder was in the process of shutting down, and his voice was the first thing to succumb. It was dull and lifeless, as if the words he said meant nothing to him - no longer held any meaning. "Sir, if YOU don't tell me, I'll find out myself." Skinner was quiet for a few seconds, before he said, "Fine, Mulder. Do what you have to do." Mulder listened as Skinner gave him the approximate address of the accident, and then he hung up the phone. He slowly rose from the couch, but he didn't even realize he was doing it. He put on his jacket and sneakers without even thinking. In the span of a few moments he had been told that the only thing that had kept him alive, that had brought him happiness, was gone, and now he was alone forever. Scully was gone. There was nothing left to live for anymore. * * * George Washington Memorial Parkway Outside of Huntington, Virginia 2:15 am ------------------------------------------- The water's dark And deep inside this ancient heart You'll always be a part of me ------------------------------------------- Mulder stepped out of his car, ready for the worst. But there wasn't really anything to see - no carnage. No shattered glass scattered across the road. No spilled blood. No twisted metal to step over. There was nothing. Nothing but the blackness of the sky and river, the endless whisper of the wind, and deep cuts in the ground where the car had swerved before plummeting off into the river. Even Scully's car - which they had pulled from the river - though damaged, was as silent as a tomb, caught in those horrible last moments, as if in stasis. It turned out that the scene of the accident was just a little over three miles from Mulder's apartment building. During his drive he had been steeling himself in case they had found a body, and in doing so, had slipped into a kind of shock. He absently showed his FBI badge to one of the two policemen remaining, and then walked past them, his eyes glassy. Mulder pulled his gaze from the river and looked over at the car again - HER CAR. The tow truck was about to take it away. He walked forward, willing his feet to move and his body to function - just long enough until he could be certain. Then, when he knew the truth for himself, he could stop. He could stop everything... The car was battered and bruised and broken. As Skinner had said, the windshield was cracked, and the front of the car was dented quite badly. Water still ran in rivulets from the doors, hood, and trunk of the car. Mulder watched as it seeped away - like a soul slowly slipping from a body. He stood a few feet away from the remains, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. The wind suddenly stung his eyes. <...Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...> There weren't very many people at the scene now. Just two policemen finishing up their reports, the tow truck, and some lingering rubberneckers. The firemen and the paramedics had long since left. They were never really needed. Mulder turned away from the car and walked to the cliff's edge. He let his gaze drift back to the blue-black water. He couldn't understand what could have caused this. What had been wrong with Scully to make her lose control so drastically? He looked at the way the moon seemed to highlight every swell of the river. It seemed so soft and innocent and romantic, but beneath the surface there were dangerous depths. Fatal depths. Mulder blinked, tears slipping down his cheeks, and suddenly, he could see Scully's car flying off the edge of the cliff. In perfect clarity, as if it were some sick home video, he saw her car soaring through the air at a break-neck speed. Mulder was certain he could even hear her screaming inside - as if she knew that her life was about to end. He flinched as he watched her car hit, sending up a huge plume of water, like an explosion. And that's when he felt the bile rise in his throat, and he stumbled away from the cliff, onto the side of the road, falling down into the grass. His eyes swam shut and he cried out in pain, heedless of the people still around him. Not soon after, he rolled onto all fours and retched into the grass, tears streaming down his face. No one offered to help or console him. Maybe somehow they knew that the only person that could was already gone. He wouldn't take comfort from the feel of their arms around him, because theirs weren't the arms he longed for. After a few minutes, Mulder finally stopped, sitting down in the grass again, careful not to look at the water. He sighed. It was a deep, heart wrenching sound of grief. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, when he suddenly turned his gaze to the night sky. Its black expanse was dotted with stars whose light had long since burned away. Once in a while, in the past, he had looked up at the stars and wondered where Samantha was, but now, as he looked at them, he wondered if Scully was up there somewhere. <...Star light, star bright...> As Mulder sat there, he remembered the last time he had seen Scully. \\::\\:://::// Eleven Months Earlier Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia June 7, 1997 5:22 pm ------------------------------------------- Damn the angry voice that keeps us quiet The editor whose work is never done Keeping pretty words between my teeth And sweet confessions underneath my tongue ------------------------------------------- Mulder stood before her in disbelief. His hands were at his hips, and his mouth was hanging open - he knew it was. But he didn't really care. He simply could not believe what the woman before him had just said. "You're what?" he asked, his voice incredulous. Scully looked up at him, her face stoic. "I'm getting married." Mulder's expression did not change. "I didn't even know you were dating anyone." Scully shrugged, and turned from him, letting her gaze linger on his fish tank. "I have been. I just...didn't tell you." "Why not? I would have understood." Scully shook her head. "I just couldn't, Mulder," she said, and he swore he heard her voice crack on his name. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, so you wouldn't be surprised when it happened." Mulder refused to think about all the implications then, so he focused on their immediate conversation. "You say that like you're getting married tomorrow." Scully took a step towards the door. "I am." "WHAT?!" She whirled on him, a pained expression on her face. "Look, Mulder, I don't think you have any right to judge me! This is MY life, and I've decided that I want to start living it!" Mulder was devastated. He couldn't believe that this was the same woman he had worked with for over five years. That she was the same woman who had stood by him, defended him, protected and saved him. He had even started to hope that she loved him. She simply wasn't acting like herself. "Scully," he said, his voice soft and calm, "are you sure this is what you really want?" When he asked that question, her face went ashen, and she had to look away from him to compose herself. After a few seconds of silence, she cleared her throat, and answered. "Yes, it is. Mulder, this is the most important thing I've ever done in my entire life. Everything depends on this." Now Mulder was truly confused. Besides hating the thought of another man marrying Scully, he was beginning to worry that something was really wrong with her. He gently touched her shoulder. "Why, Scully? Why does everything depend on this?" Scully looked up at him, and Mulder was sure that she was trying to tell him something with that silent communication they had between them. But in his distraught and confused state, he wasn't really up to figuring it out. "It just does, Mulder." He accepted that answer for the moment, but only because he had a much more burning question to ask. "Who is he?" Mulder swore he saw Scully's spine stiffen at that question, but it was gone a moment later, and he thought maybe he had imagined it. Soon, her forced laughter echoed through Mulder's apartment. Her laughter felt wrong to Mulder - like it would if the Smoking Man laughed. "My mother says he has a bit of the devil in him, and maybe she's right, but that's okay with me. His name is Grant Putnam." Mulder's eyebrows went up. Scully had NEVER even mentioned this guy. This whole thing felt terribly wrong to Mulder, but he found himself rather powerless to stop it. "Where's the wedding?" he asked, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth. "At the courthouse. We don't want anything big. Just the two of us, a witness, and the justice of the peace." "I'll be your witness," said Mulder, and when he did, he couldn't believe he had actually offered to be a witness at Scully's wedding, when all he wanted to be was the groom. For just a moment, Mulder saw her iron control slip and some deep emotion flashed in Scully's eyes, but then it was gone, and the control was back in place. "No, Mulder," she said, her voice soft. "I couldn't...to see you standing there...I just..." As she trailed off, Mulder put a hand on her shoulder, convinced that something was wrong. If she were so much in love with this other guy, why would it bother her to have HIM there? "Scully, if you're having a problem with this, tell me. If you want to postpone it, or whatever, I'm behind you. Just talk to me, and we'll-" "Mulder, stop," she cut in, her eyes pleading. She lowered her head, apparently trying to compose herself again. When she looked up at him, the plaintive look was gone from her eyes, replaced by something hard and cold. "There is no WE - not anymore. There never will be again." She looked away from him then, seeming to contemplate the geometric patterns of the Native American blanket on his couch. When she spoke again, her voice was soft; mournful. "I'm asking you to accept this, Mulder. I'm asking you to let this happen - for ME. It's better this way. Can you do that? Can you do it for me?" How could he refuse any request worded in that way? He would do anything for her - even give up his own life, his own happiness. He was silent for a few moments, his head down, as he tried to collect his thoughts. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were pained. He nodded curtly. "If it's what you want, I can do that," he said, his control and gaze slipping away towards the end of the declaration. "I understand," he added, hoping it was what she wanted to hear. "You have to do this on your own." Scully nodded, and then shrugged. "Anyway, I should be going. Grant is expecting me." Mulder nodded, feeling as though his entire world was slipping away from him at light speed - spiraling down into a black hole. He couldn't think of anything to say to stop it, but he had to say something. "Scully, wait." She had made it to the door, but now she stopped like always. She always did what he asked her to when things were at their worst; was always there beside him when the wind died down and the dust settled, helping him to regain his footing. "What?" "What about work?" Mulder simply couldn't bear the thought of not being able to see Scully every day. "I put in a request for a transfer today." Mulder's world suddenly broke from its breakneck flight away from him and crashed to a sickening stop. He had been able to deal with this news of Scully's marriage by telling himself that she would come to her senses at the last moment, or that it wouldn't last. That she would eventually realize that she loved HIM. But this news was just too much. He couldn't deal with her leaving him totally. It would destroy him. "Scully...why?" Scully turned away again, and this time, Mulder was sure that it was to hide tears. "Because I just can't take it anymore, Mulder. We don't seem to be getting anywhere anymore...and I need to be somewhere, and do something that makes a difference. And I don't feel that I make a difference with you anymore." Mulder was at a total loss for words. "Scully...that's not true. Our work DOES make a difference. We're bringing vital truths to light that have remained hidden far too long. How can you think otherwise?" Scully opened the door. "I just do," she answered, almost echoing a long ago answer to him. She stepped out into the hall, and looked back at Mulder. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was for the last time. "Goodnight, Mulder. Get some rest." She made it sound like a normal goodbye, but Mulder knew otherwise. It FELT different, and they both knew it. As she turned and walked out of his view, he rushed to the door, and looked after her, tears in his eyes. In the end, he said nothing. After all, how could he tell her he loved her when she was going to marry another man the next day? How could he tell her he knew it was the worst mistake she would ever make? How could he make her believe that he had loved her all this time, but was afraid to let it show? She would think he was lying just to stop her. Besides, he could never express the way he felt about her in the time it took her to walk to the elevator. And he knew he would never get over her in the time he had left in this life. She got to the elevator, and he was sure he saw her hand shaking as she reached out to push the button. When the doors opened, she walked on and didn't turn around. As the doors slid shut, locking her away from his view, Mulder felt something break apart inside his chest, and he knew for certain that it was his heart. And in the months that passed, even though he could sometimes convince himself otherwise, he never seemed to be able to banish her from his heart. Or from his soul. \\::\\:://::// CONTINUED IN PART B OF PART ONE THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART ONE: THE BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE (continued) She got to the elevator, and he was sure he saw her hand shaking as she reached out to push the button. When the doors opened, she walked on and didn't turn around. As the doors slid shut, locking her away from his view, Mulder felt something break apart inside his chest, and he knew for certain that it was his heart. And in the months that passed, even though he could sometimes convince himself otherwise, he never seemed to be able to banish her from his heart. Or from his soul. \\::\\:://::// Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia May 12, 1998 8:32 pm ------------------------------------------- If I could open the heavens above I'd be with you If I could hold you again in my arms I would tell you That I love you ------------------------------------------- The apartment was dark. The only sound was the filter from the fish tank as it went about its endless job. Mulder sat in a dismal corner, his head bowed, wishing that he would just disappear. With every moment that passed, he begged the universe to swallow him and take him from this blinding white torture. Take him from this world of pain and let him slip softly into blackness. He didn't want to go on - couldn't go on - without Scully. Nothing mattered anymore - nothing made sense. It hadn't even been this bad when she had left the X-Files and gotten married. At least then, he knew she was still out in the world, and living, and hopefully happy. The fact that he was miserable without her meant nothing. Though they never saw each other, he had still felt their connection. Somehow, he had made that enough for him. But this...this was torment. This was something worse than death - worse than Hell. Her death was the end of him. He knew it - could sense it down to the marrow of his bones. He felt like half of his soul had been ripped away, and its absence was killing him. His mind kept flashing back to that line in "Wuthering Heights" - the part where Heathcliff tried to explain that Cathy was a part of him - the best part. With her gone, it was like his life was gone - his soul was gone - and he couldn't live without it. Mulder couldn't live without his soul. He couldn't go on without the one person that made his life worth living. He couldn't continue without the person who turned his world of blacks and greys into brilliant color. A knock suddenly came to the door. Mulder didn't move. He didn't even react to the sound. Whoever it was would go away soon enough, and he could return to the dark void of pain that his life had become. "Fox, please open the door," a voice called softly. Mulder still did not move, but his heart quickened. He knew who it was. Mrs. Scully. And then the sound of a key in the lock came to his ears, and before Mulder could even think about getting to the door to hold it shut, she walked inside. Mulder stayed where he was, sitting in the corner, and some detached part of him decided that Mrs. Scully must have gotten his key from Scully's things. He didn't really care at the moment. Margaret took a deep breath and slowly walked over to Mulder, kneeling down beside him. "Oh, Fox, look at you..." He kept his gaze on the floor; his head bowed, and refused to move. Just the act of breathing made the stinging ache in his heart worse. It had been there since Skinner had told him the news, and he knew it would remain forever. It was his new companion. The ache replaced the spot Scully had filled in his heart, and the love he felt for her. When she had died, it had gone with her, and he had no more love to give or feel, and no desire to do so. "Fox, you can't go on like this. This has got to stop." For a moment, Mulder wondered why Mrs. Scully wasn't off with Scully's husband, consoling him. Why was she here with the ex- partner of her daughter? "Go away..." Margaret ignored that weak attempt, and reached out to take his hand. She spoke softly, but forcefully. "Fox, I want you to come to the memorial service. For your own sake, you NEED to come." He shook his head slightly, a barely perceptible movement. "Fox, Dana would want you there. You need to come to say goodbye, so you can move on with your life." At those words, his head shot up, and he fixed her with a menacing stare. "Move on with my life?" he asked, his voice bitter and scratchy from under-use. "Scully WAS my life...the only good part..." Margaret sighed. "I know that, Fox, but you can't sit in this dark place forever. Dana," she said, her voice breaking a bit, "wouldn't want that for you." "DANA," he said, venomously emphasizing the name he had so rarely spoken, "wouldn't have wanted to die. And she wouldn't want me to forget her and just go on like she never existed." "I'm not asking you to do that," said Mrs. Scully. "I'm asking you to come to the service and make peace with yourself, and with Dana." He looked away. "There is no peace anymore..." Mulder flinched when he felt her hand on his shoulder, but she didn't remove it. "Stop this, Fox. You can't hold all of this inside you. The service will help you deal with the grief, and it will allow you to pay your respects. If you loved my daughter as much as I think you did and still do, you owe her at least that much." Mulder looked up at her, not really shocked that she had guessed the secret he had harbored for so long. There was very little point in denying it. "How did you know?" Mrs. Scully smiled faintly, and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "I knew from the first moment I saw you in her apartment that awful night so long ago." He nodded, and lowered his head again, realizing for the first time how long he had loved Scully. Lately, it was hard remembering a time when he HADN'T loved her. Long moments passed in uncomfortable silence before Mulder looked up at her again, his eyes shining with tears. "I was such a fool..." he finally said, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. He didn't want to cry in front of Mrs. Scully. Crying was something he only did when he was alone...or with Scully. "Why do you say that, Fox?" asked Mrs. Scully, her pale blue eyes electric in the dark room, as if lit from behind. "Over the years I had so many chances to tell her - to make her understand - and I let them all pass by," he said, looking away to the fish tank. He swallowed dryly and ran his hands over his face. "I always thought there would be time for US later. I kept putting my quest - my search for the truth - ahead of Scully. She was a constant to me, and I took that constancy for granted." Mrs. Scully shook her head in disapproval. "Second-guessing yourself is not the way to understand this, Fox. Everyone is guilty of putting things off - of thinking that there will always be more time." Mulder looked back to her and a single tear streaked down his cheek, despite his will. "I - of all people - should have known better, but I never learned. Even when Scully told me she was getting married and leaving the X-Files, I convinced myself that, in time, she would come back. I stopped myself from telling her how I felt, because I was certain that I could tell her LATER, when she came back. I never ONCE stopped to think that there might not be later." Mrs. Scully did not respond, and Mulder fell silent, as well. What else was there to say? He had wasted his time with Scully. He had pushed her aside, left her behind, and kept her at arm's length because he was a selfish coward. Long ago, he had made the call that no matter how long it took to find Samantha - to find all the truths for which he searched - Scully would be there afterwards, waiting. But Fate was cruel, and had turned the tables on him. Now HE was the one waiting - waiting to die so that he could be with her once more. Finally, Mulder voiced his last concern. "I don't think Grant will want me at Scully's funeral." Margaret looked up at him, obviously shocked that he would care. "You just let ME handle Grant. You're going to be there, and that's the end of it." Mulder smiled weakly, but it soon slipped into a regretful frown. "Do you think she knew?" There was no need to say anything more. They both knew what he was referring to and why he had to know. "I know she did, Fox. And even though she married Grant, I know she loved you more than anything else." Mulder looked away after she had spoken. Her words, meant as comfort, rang hollow and meaningless in his empty heart. Even if Scully HAD loved him - in any way - he didn't deserve it. He felt a tremendous pressure on his chest, and wiped at his eyes before any more tears could escape. Grief, regret, and anger twisted into a heavy, knotted burden and took up residence in his soul. * * * 9:13 pm Margaret Scully closed the door to Mulder's apartment and leaned against it, her energy spent. Her heart - already broken and aching from Dana's death - felt as though it had received another fatal blow. She had never seen someone so utterly destroyed by another person's death. She had always thought of Fox as less than a whole person - in an emotional sense - because of his sister's disappearance, but the man inside that apartment was a shadow of the person he had been. There was truly nothing left - no vitality or spark. When she had reached out and taken hold of his hand, she had been shocked at how cold his skin was, and how lifeless. But what had scared Margaret most was that his eyes had been completely devoid of any emotion, save an unfathomable misery. She had known a long time ago that Fox loved Dana. It was apparent in everything he did. That knowledge was one of the reasons why she had been so surprised when Dana had come to her almost a year ago, and said she was getting married. Margaret had been sure that Dana loved Fox. At the time, she had been slightly suspicious of this new man. But when Dana had introduced Margaret to Grant, she had decided that if he was what Dana THOUGHT she wanted - even though Margaret KNEW her daughter would only ever love one man - she would go along with it. That didn't mean that Margaret had ever forgotten about Mulder's feelings for her daughter. So, she had come to make sure that he was all right, and thought that perhaps they could comfort each other a little. After all, this was hard for her as well; so hard. Two daughters gone in what felt like the blink of an eye. It wasn't fair. But she had found Mulder much deeper into despair that she had imagined. His normally intense soul was dull with anguish. She had wanted to reach out to him and pull him close to her, but she knew that he would never have allowed it. Fox Mulder was an emotionally private person. He was the type of person who cried in the shower, but appeared in control in front of others. His will over his emotions was very strong - so strong, that only one tear had broken through his defenses. He was like Dana in that way - stoic, with a wall around his heart. Somehow, Margaret knew that Dana had been able to break through that wall - as Fox had broken through hers. Now, with Dana gone, Margaret feared that he would build the wall higher and cut himself off from the rest of the world. Dana had been his salvation - his only lifeline to love, trust, friendship, and happiness. Without her, he was set adrift on a dark ocean, where everything good in life had no place and no purpose. * * * Two Days Later Arlington Cemetery Arlington, Virginia May 14, 1998 10:13 am ------------------------------------------- It's colder than winter I'm freezing inside And every time the sun sets I shed another tear And the lonelier I get Wishing you were still here ------------------------------------------- A stately black woman stood before the crowd, the dark blue of her robe setting off her dark eyes. She was one of Mrs. Scully's friends. Her hands were clasped together and held before her, as she sang the song that Mulder had picked out. He knew that it wasn't the normal thing to be sung at a memorial service, but it spoke to him. Mulder didn't care what anyone else thought. After some convincing on Mulder's part, Margaret had relented and said that it was all right with her. She had even pretended that it was HER selection so that Grant would have no reason to protest. And even though Mulder had fought hard for the song to be included, he barely heard any of it over the dark thoughts in his own mind. Mulder had also been the one to suggest that the service be held outside - instead of in a church. Amazingly, Mrs. Scully had also agreed to this, saying, "Dana was always happier outside." As the woman finished, Mulder reached up to wipe a tear away, but his face held no expression. He was holding it all inside. He was good at that - had learned some of it from Scully, actually. She had always been able to slip on an emotionless mask when things got tough. He hoped that Scully would help him keep that mask on today, so that these people wouldn't see any of his real feelings. "...If anyone has anything to say at this time, please come forward," said the priest, as he closed the Bible he was holding. The day was warm and beautiful. Spring was slowly winning its battle with winter, and the birds were singing, perched on the branches of blossoming trees. Only a few wispy clouds were present, and the sky was a deep blue that reminded him of her eyes. Mulder thought it appropriate that she be laid to rest on such an amazing day. He sat behind Mrs. Scully and the rest of the family. She had wanted him to sit beside her, with Grant on her other side, but Mulder had refused. He knew that if Scully had been HIS wife, he wouldn't want some other man - a potential rival - sitting with the family. So, Grant sat beside Mrs. Scully, and they held hands. Grant had on a charcoal grey suit, and he seemed to be coping very well for a man who had just lost his wife. Mulder, however, was not doing so well. He was wearing a black suit that only served to accentuate his gauntness, the dark circles under his eyes, and the pale pallor of his skin - features that had appeared since Scully had left him and had been escalating since he learned of Scully's death. Just then, Skinner stepped out of the group of non-family members and walked to stand next to the priest and the new tombstone. He placed a single white rose beside the stone and then turned to face the group of people who were congregated in the cemetery. "I knew Agent Scully for six years as her supervisor, and during that time, she proved herself to be one of the best agents ever to graduate from the academy. She was a consummate professional, a brilliant forensic pathologist, and had one of the most logical minds I've ever seen. She was an honest, caring, loving, and good person, and she will be missed greatly by those who knew and worked with her." Everyone was silent as they contemplated Skinner's words. Then, he walked away from the tombstone, and went to stand with the group of people again. There was a silence as everyone waited to see if anyone else would speak. Just as the priest was about to step forward to tell everyone that the service was over, Margaret slowly stood up. She walked to the front of the group, and bent down, tenderly placing a hand on the cold stone. "I love you, Dana," she said, so softly, that no one heard her except for Mulder and Grant. She finally turned to the group and unfolded a piece of paper she had had tucked away in a pocket of her dress. "I would like to thank everyone for coming," she said, her voice strong. "I know that Dana would appreciate it." She turned her gaze to Mulder, and smiled at him, as a mother would smile at her child. He was staring ahead, his posture straight, his face expressionless. He had withdrawn into that tiny world where Scully was still alive and they were still together. Then her gaze shifted to Grant, and she smiled again, but it was not as affectionate as the one she had bestowed upon Mulder. "I'd like to read something to you that helped me immensely to make sense of all of this. I was going through some of Dana's things, and I found this in one of her old college poetry books. When I saw it, I thought of Dana. The page was dog-eared and the title highlighted. It's almost as though she wanted me to find it. I decided it had to be more than a coincidence, and that it was a sign that I should read it here today." She held the paper in front of her and read aloud: 'Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Nor the lark, not you, Can die as others do.' "Dana, I miss you and I love you. I hope that wherever you are, you are at peace and with your father and sister. I know that I'll see all of you again someday." She re-folded the paper and stood before everyone for a few moments, her head bowed. As Margaret sat down, Mulder looked to Grant, assuming he would be next. Grant was a tall man with blonde hair, a muscular build, and slate grey eyes. As Mulder studied him - seeing him for the first time, really - he saw how cold Grant seemed. And being as un-biased as he could be, Mulder simply couldn't fathom why Scully would ever marry such a man. When Grant didn't move, Mulder began to think that this painful event was finally over. He found it strange that Grant wasn't acting as he should be, but Mulder wasn't exactly in top-form, so it didn't really register. When someone else stepped forward, Mulder felt like he would never leave this place. The man was dressed conservatively, with a dark suit, red tie, and white shirt. His greying hair was combed nicely, and his black-framed glasses looked clean and polished. But, the man himself looked awful - as if someone had just told him that his favorite star had just died - gone supernova. Frohike stood before the gathering of people, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He looked to Mulder and he expertly ignored Grant. Mulder knew that Frohike would have been able to handle it if Mulder ended up with Scully. But some stranger? Not a chance. Frohike cleared his throat, and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue, before speaking. "I'm here today to honor Dana Scully," he said, not bothering to use her married name. Mulder looked to Grant, expecting to see him bristling, but Grant's face was blank. Mulder thought it strange, but the notion was gone before he even had time to really think about it. His mind was completely consumed with grief and he wasn't up to the task of figuring out a mystery. "I know she was married, but she'll always be Scully to me." Frohike paused to gather himself for what he was about to say next. "I would like to read a poem, now - actually, I was ASKED to read this by a certain friend of mine. I know he would have liked to do it himself, but I think we can all understand why he doesn't feel up to it. This is how he felt and still feels about Dana Scully." Mulder looked up at Frohike upon hearing this, his eyes wide, his face a question. He hadn't told Frohike to say that last part. It could be taken wrong - especially by Grant. But as Mulder thought about it, he realized he didn't care what Grant thought. This was about how Mulder felt about Scully, and nothing else. Frohike smiled down at his friend. "I'm honored that he asked me to read this for him. That's what friends are for, after all." Mulder smiled sadly, and nodded his head, thanking Frohike. Frohike nodded back. "'Never the spirit was born The spirit shall cease to be never Never was time it was not Ends and beginnings are dreams Birthless and deathless and changeless Remaineth the spirit forever Death hath not changed it at all Dead though the house of it seems...'" When Frohike finished, he let his gaze settle on Mulder, and Mulder knew that Frohike was wondering if Mulder was happy with how he read the poem. Mulder smiled thinly at Frohike and saw relief wash over the smaller man's face at the gratefulness in Mulder's sad eyes. Mulder was thankful that Frohike had told the world what he could not - no matter what separated them, even if it was a plane of existence, they still felt each other. Frohike breezed past Grant, and walked over to Mulder and patted his shoulder, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Hang in there, Mulder. Don't give up. Scully would want it that way." Mulder looked up at Frohike and nodded, trying to put on a brave front. He grasped Frohike's hand, and shook it strongly, as another tear escaped. Frohike nodded and then walked through the crowd, which parted for him, and left the cemetery. Skinner watched him go with a curious expression. After Frohike left, an older man in a conservative blue suit stepped forward to stand before the crowd. In his sixties, he and had thin, light brown wispy hair that was receding slightly, a large, hawk's nose, and piercing, slate grey eyes. His face was surprisingly free of many wrinkles. "My name is Austin Davis and I am a partner in the firm Lowry, Grey, and Davis. I was Ms. Scully-Putnam's lawyer, and I am also the executor of her will. I know that this must seem strange to all of you, and I must say I am at a bit of a loss. Normally, wills are not read at funeral services, but I am upholding Dana's wishes." Mulder was taken aback by this development, and as he looked at Grant, it seemed that he was feeling the same way. This also struck Mulder as odd. As Scully's husband, Grant should have been aware of Scully's will. Apparently, though, he had not been. The man took out a legal document - the kind with the blue backing - and folded back the cover. He held it before him, coughed once, and began to speak. "Approximately three weeks ago, Dana came to me and made some changes in her living will. She also gave me the instructions that I am now carrying out." Mulder looked at this staunch man before him and wondered why Scully had suddenly changed her will. If he had stopped her the night she told him she was getting married - if he had MADE her talk to him - perhaps they would have gotten together, or at the very least, she wouldn't have gotten married. She wouldn't have had to change her will - for reasons he didn't understand - and she wouldn't have died. It was just one more pain added on to his immense list. "She asked me, that if the need ever arose, to read her will at her funeral. So, I will do so. "'I, Dana Scully, being of sound mind and body, declare this my last will and testament. In my life, I did not have time to accrue many material things, mostly because of my hectic work schedule, so I do not have many things to give. To the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I leave my gratitude for a wonderful education and an interesting and satisfying career.'" Skinner raised his eyebrows, obviously noting the affection with which her words had been written. The lawyer continued. "'To my mother, I leave half of the money from my life insurance policy, my father's copy of "Moby Dick," the personal things of Melissa that I have, and my love.'" Margaret wiped her tears away with a silk handkerchief, and slipped her arm through Grant's. He stiffened at her touch, but managed to cover it quickly. "'To Fox Mulder, my partner, best friend, and true protector, I leave these things: my apartment, and the rest of my material possessions. I also want you to have the other half of my life insurance, Mulder. And don't even think about refusing, because you can't. I want you to use it to continue our work, and our search. And finally, Mulder, I leave you the three most important things in my life: my cross, my trust, and my love.'" The group of assembled people stirred slightly at this, apparently thinking it a bit strange that Scully left everything to Mulder, and not her husband. But the most surprising comments came next. "'Finally, to Grant Putnam, I leave nothing, because he gave me nothing and took everything from me that I ever loved.'" The crowd gasped at the last statement. Mulder's eyes widened, and he felt his belly twist into a knot. It was the same feeling he got when he knew that the government was hiding something; covering up. The lawyer seemed a bit uncomfortable with that last declaration, but he pressed onward. He walked over to Mulder, and took Scully's cross out of a plastic bag. He placed the chain in Mulder's hand, and said, "She gave this to me when she changed her will. I thought it strange, but I didn't question her. I hope you can take some comfort from it. She was very adamant that you have it. She told me to tell you something when I gave it to you." Mulder looked up at him, gently taking the cross into his hands. "What?" Mr. Davis cleared his throat, and bent down so that the others wouldn't hear. "'For this son was dead, but now he is alive; he was lost, but now he has been found.' She said that when you lose hope, you should look to the book that comes from." After that, the lawyer walked away, and Mulder simply sat there for a few moments, still as stone. He didn't blink; was barely breathing. He held the cross so tightly he could feel the point of it digging into the palm of his hand. He couldn't seem to form any coherent thoughts. All he saw were images - quick snapshots of all the time he and Scully had spent together. Blinking a few times in quick succession, he began to tremble. He looked over to Grant, and saw, for the first time, emotion in the man's eyes. He was livid. The obvious foreign nature of such emotions in such a circumstance was enough to jar Mulder back into some kind of reality. His mind cleared up a bit, and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Grant. Slowly, it dawned on Mulder that Scully's marriage had been anything but happy and safe, and he cursed himself for the thousandth time for letting Scully go. He stumbled to the tombstone, and looked down at it, tears streaming down his face. Bending down, he put his cheek against the stone, smooth as her skin had been, and whispered, "I love you...always will." Then, he pushed himself up, and walked out of the cemetery quietly, one thought in his mind: he would find out what had REALLY happened to Scully. * * * CONTINUED IN PART TWO THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART TWO: SECRET AGENT MAN Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia May 14, 1998 11:21 am ------------------------------------------- She's out of my life Damned indecision and cursed pride Kept my love for her locked deep inside And it cuts like a knife She's out of my life ------------------------------------------- Mulder knew that he had to find out what had gone wrong with Scully's marriage - and why she had suddenly left him. But he was so tired and drained from her funeral that he decided he would have to try and rest first. As he walked to the elevator and stepped inside, he pressed the button for floor number four. As the elevator churned to life, Mulder remembered a certain ride that he and Scully had taken not so long ago. He had come back from the dead to find Scully and Skinner in a standoff. He had burst through the door, Scully had turned to see what new foe she would have to face, and had seen him. Her face had shown such pure shock and relief that Mulder almost forgotten what was going on in his own apartment. Then they had left Skinner behind and had walked to the elevator. Scully had stared at him, her feelings for him written all over her face. And when he had asked her how she knew he was alive, she had smiled that special smile of hers, and said, "I just knew." As soon as the doors had closed, Scully had wrapped her arms around him, and sighed in contentment. He had pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head, and said, "It's so good to see you again." She had looked up at him with that smile on her face again. "It's better to see you. I missed you, Mulder." "I won't leave you again, Scully. I promise." "I believe you," she had said. And they had spent the rest of the ride in silence, but it had been the sweetest moment of Mulder's life, because he had never felt closer to her. Now, as Mulder walked down the quiet hallway of his building to his apartment, he could barely keep the tears from turning into full sobs. The idea that he would never again ride in an elevator with Scully, never again sit with her in a diner eating greasy food, never again see her give him that look that said 'you are the craziest person I have ever met, but I still like you.' He walked inside and shrugged out of his jacket, closing the door without thinking. The blinds were drawn - had been since he had gotten that call from Skinner. Since that night, he couldn't bear the light. His last thoughts of Scully had been in the darkness, and now, she felt most real to him in the night. After putting her cross on, as he had done before, he walked over to the couch and sank down onto it, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He closed his eyes and her image sprang quickly to his photographic mind, drawing her in perfect and clear detail. Everything was there; every curve, every line, every angle. Mulder wrapped his arms around a throw pillow and allowed the tears to have the control they had been wanting all day. All he wanted was to see her again; her smile, her fiery hair, and he would feel whole. He slipped into a fitful sleep, and finally a dream. In it, he was lying in a dark room, his eyes open, but he couldn't see anything. Suddenly, he heard someone walking towards him. <...I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you...> He heard her voice clearly, as if she were in the room with him, close enough to touch him. "I'm here, Scully," he managed to mutter, through the tears that he shed, even in his dreams. <...The truth is out there, Mulder, but so are lies...> He nodded, feeling as though his throat was closing. "I know, Scully. I know..." <...Must be fate, Mulder...root beer...> "...Come back to me, Scully...I need you..." he murmured, reaching out blindly into the darkness. "Please...I can't go on without you..." <...You're stronger than this, Mulder. You can fight this...> He shook his head bleakly. "I don't want to fight, Scully. I just want to be with you..." <...I knew there was a reason to live...> His face twisted into a mask of absolute torture. "No, Scully. I don't want to live...not without you..." Mulder could almost feel her cool hand upon his forehead as she smoothed his hair back, and murmured soothing, calming things to him. <...One day you will be with me, Mulder. But not now. It's not time...> "But I feel like your spirit is moving away from me. You're going away and one day I'll forget you." He knew that she was probably smiling that soft smile that she saved just for him. <...Of course you will, Mulder. That is how it should be. You can't grieve for me for the rest of your life. You'll be all right without me. You'll go on...> Mulder reached out to pull her to him, and he was sure that he felt his arms close around her waist, as she came to him willingly. "I love you, Scully. Don't leave me again..." When he tried to pull her closer, she disappeared like a night mist; cool and fleeting. Mulder cried out and wrapped his arms around himself, tears falling again, as he woke from his dream. "Scully, no! Don't leave me!" But she was already gone. She had never really been there. * * * The X-Files Office Washington, D.C. May 15, 1998 6:02 am ------------------------------------------- I still run I still swing open the door I still think You'll be there like before ------------------------------------------- The next morning, Mulder somehow managed to go into work to begin his search for anything that might explain the strange feeling he was having. He left his apartment before sunrise, and hoped to get in and slink out before ten. The streetlights were still on as he drove to the Hoover building, wiping tears off his cheeks now and again. He pulled into his parking spot, and walked into the building, silent as a ghost. Walking down to the basement, he had to stop himself from looking to his side, expecting Scully to be there. Even though she hadn't been there in months, he still couldn't stop the reflex. And the knowledge that she wasn't going to be there ever again cut him to the core. He reached the door to his office - what had once been THEIR office - and opened it slowly, reverently. He hadn't been in the office for many months. After Scully had left him to get married, Mulder had quickly lost interest in the X-Files and was soon transferred back to VCS. However, he had kept his key to this office, and once in a while when the depression got to be too much for him, and his longing for Scully too painful, he would come down to the basement and sit in the office for a while. It seemed to help. Luckily, in the rush to close the X-Files, the Bureau had completely forgotten about the office and never even bothered to clean it out. So, the computer and files were still there. Mulder knew this would be the last time he would see this place - this small space that had been theirs and theirs alone. It had been a protective bubble for them - where their fears and troubles had no power. When inside, they were, for a while, in a blissful kind of amber. The rest of the world stopped and ceased to exist or matter. He would never come back after today. He had been able to take comfort from this place after she had left, because he had harbored the dream that she would come back to him one day, and so he had been waiting for that day. But she had died and taken that dream with her, and the office was now a cold reminder of that fact. He saw no reason to ever return. Mulder sank down into his old office chair, careful to keep his gaze away from Scully's desk. Turning to his computer, he switched it on, and tried to keep the tears at bay as it hummed to life. He had to keep his mind clear while he worked. After an hour or so of looking and finding nothing, Mulder took a break. He leaned back in his chair, and sighed. First he had checked out Scully's marriage certificate - it was legal. Then, he had reviewed her reports from her new job - after she had left the X-Files - but nothing in them seemed out of the ordinary. She had mainly done autopsies for the VCS, and taught a few classes. Nothing very exciting, and he couldn't help thinking it was a demotion for her. His last resort was to do a background check on Grant. It was something he should have done that night she told him she was getting married - but he had been too heartbroken to care at the time. Now, however, he couldn't care more. So, he logged onto the FBI's database, and did a search on Grant Putnam. * * * 9:10 am Mulder was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't hear his cell phone until the fourth ring. Picking it up, he said, "Mulder." "Fox, it's Mrs. Scully." Mulder didn't like the sound of her voice, and he immediately gave her all his attention. "What is it, Mrs. Scully?" "Fox, Grant's gone." Mulder's eyebrows went up. "What? What do you mean, he's gone?" Margaret sighed in exasperation. "He's just...gone. He's not at their house. I can't get him on his cell-phone, and no one at work has seen him." The knot Mulder had felt in his stomach at the funeral got ten times larger at her words. "Okay, Mrs. Scully, hang on and I'll be there. I have some news of my own about Grant. Where are you?" "At Dana's." Mulder felt his heart contract as he realized that he didn't even know where Scully had lived. "Um, Mrs. Scully, you're going to have to give me directions." "Don't you remember how to get to Dana's apartment?" Mulder was about to say no, when he realized what Mrs. Scully had said. "What do you mean, her apartment? Aren't you at her and Grant's house?" There was a silence. "No. Dana never sold her old apartment. She willed it to you - don't you remember? Anyway, this is the first place I came when I couldn't find Grant. I thought he might be here, but then I remembered that Dana never told him that she kept this place." The knot in Mulder's stomach was growing in leaps and bounds. "I'll be right there." * * * Scully's Apartment Annapolis, Maryland May 15, 1998 10:21 am ------------------------------------------- These tears I've cried I've cried a thousand oceans And I would cry a thousand a more If that's what it takes To sail you home ------------------------------------------- Margaret stood in the kitchen of Dana's apartment, her eyes glazed and her mind far away, a spoon forgotten in her right hand. Being in the apartment had brought back so many memories of Dana. This had been her first real apartment. She had had others, of course, but they were all when she was in school, and usually Margaret and William had paid the bills. But this was the first place that Dana had gotten after she graduated from the Academy - the first apartment that was hers alone. Margaret could remember helping Dana move here - lugging God knew how many boxes in from the car. She could remember them fighting over the placement of things in this very kitchen. Of course, the silverware should be close to the dishwasher, and yes, put the pots and pans in the drawers under the stove. She could still see Dana's face that day - happy and bright, so proud to be on her own. It seemed unbelievable that her baby was gone. Margaret had always relied on Dana - for so many things. When William had died, Dana had been a pillar of strength, helping her mother through the stages of grief. And Margaret knew that she would never have gotten through Melissa's death without Dana. Margaret remembered feeling a pang of sadness on the day of Dana's graduation from medical school. She had looked at her daughter - all grown up and perfect - and realized that the little girl she had been was gone. She had to let go of the freckle-faced, red-haired tomboy called "Starbuck." She had done so knowing that it was the right thing to do. Time pulls everyone along and children grow into adults that must lead their own lives. Saying goodbye to the children they had once been is a natural part of a parent's life. But Margaret never thought she would ever have to say goodbye to the beautiful, independent, strong, courageous woman that Dana had become. Parents aren't supposed to have to give their children over to death. It was supposed to be the other way around. A knock suddenly permeated her fugue, and she jerked, hearing something clatter to the floor. She looked down and saw a spoon. She must have dropped it. The knock came again, and with it, more surrounding sounds floated back to her. She heard the kettle whistling away on the stove - for how long, she didn't know. With a sniffle, she pulled the kettle off the burner and walked to the door, the tiniest amount of fear taking hold. "Fox?" "It's me," he answered. She could almost see him cringing at the use of his first name, but she knew he would never correct her. Dana had told her long ago that he hated his first name, and preferred being called Mulder, but Margaret had always called him Fox, and she always would. It was a constant - something both of them could always count on and in these chaotic circumstances that always brought them together, she welcomed a little predictability, and knew that he did, as well. She sighed and opened the door, hoping she didn't look as bad as she felt. But by his expression, Margaret knew that he was shocked at her appearance. "Come in, Fox," she said in a relieved sigh, stepping aside to allow him entrance. After he had passed, she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall. She saw a haggard-looking woman, dark hair slightly tousled, blue eyes a little red from crying. She started to run a hand through her hair, but stopped. What was the point in pretending? They both felt awful and they both looked it. Margaret had noticed that Mulder's gauntness and pale skin had not improved since Dana's service. In fact, he seemed thinner than before. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Fox," she said. "I just didn't know who else to call, and I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about all of this." Mulder nodded, following Mrs. Scully into the living room. "So am I. Mrs. Scully, all of this just isn't adding up." Margaret sat down on Dana's white, blue-striped couch, and said, "I know. I don't know why I didn't notice any of this sooner." Mulder didn't sit down. Instead, he began to pace. Margaret thought that he looked very tired and should rest. "Fox, please sit down." He looked at her, shaking his head. "Can't," he said bluntly. "I do my best thinking on my feet." Margaret nodded, suddenly remembering something Dana had told her once about him: "You should see him when he's profiling, Mom. He paces forever. Sometimes I think he'll wear a path into the carpet. But it helps him. He gets inside their heads. He BECOMES them. That's how he solves the cases no one else can." Margaret hoped that Fox could do the same for this seemingly unsolvable case. She turned her attention back to him, realizing he had been talking to her. "Mrs. Scully, I think we should go through the events of the past year, and see what we find. Maybe we can make some sense out of all of this if we do." Margaret nodded. "Okay. Where do you want to start?" Mulder took a deep breath. "When did Scully first tell you about Grant?" "I remember that when she told me she was getting married to Grant I was shocked." "Why?" "Well, because she had only brought Grant over once before - and she had said he was only a friend. Other than that, she never mentioned Grant again until she told me she was marrying him. Not once. And I was shocked because I always thought that...well, that you and she would..." Margaret trailed off, realizing that what she was saying could only be hurting Mulder. And, true to her instincts, Mulder turned away at her words, and tried to compose himself. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, but kept his eyes on the street outside the window. "Can you remember what the date was when she told you?" "Normally, I wouldn't have a clue. But I remember that it was two days after Charlie's birthday. So that would make it June 7." Mulder's head snapped around to look at Margaret, and his eyes were wide. "That's the same day she told me." He began to pace again. "It's not like Scully to wait until the day before she's getting married to tell you. I was surprised she had waited so long to tell me." "This is very strange, Fox. The Dana I raised wouldn't have acted like that. I can't believe I didn't question it at the time!" said Margaret. "But she just took me by such surprise that I didn't even think about how strange it was." "Maybe that's how she wanted it," Mulder mumbled. "What?" asked Margaret. Mulder shook his head. "Nothing. Mrs. Scully, did Scully ever tell you why she kept this place after she got married?" Margaret shrugged. "Not really. I asked her a few times, but she would always ask me not to tell Grant about it, and then change the subject. One time, I pressed her and she said it was her 'vineyard.' I distinctly remember her saying that it was like her 'vineyard in bloom'." Mulder brow creased. "What? That doesn't make any sense." "I know, and I hate myself for not asking more questions, but I decided that it wasn't any of my business. I should have noticed that something was wrong," said Margaret, wondering why she had been so careless. Mulder looked at her sadly. "It's not your fault, Mrs. Scully. I think there was something much bigger going on here - but it was nothing that you could have figured out." "What are you saying, Fox? And what did you mean when you said you had news about Grant?" Mulder sat down next to her, and pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. "I did a background check on Grant today." Margaret's eyes widened. "You did what?" Mulder looked at her sheepishly. "I had to, Mrs. Scully. I have a bad feeling about all of this, and I had to try and find out if it's just because of Scully dying, or if it's something more." Margaret nodded. "And which one is it?" Mulder looked away. "You know that Scully's death has...well, it's wrecked me. My life will never be the same. Scully was the only good part of my life. YOU know that better than anyone. But, when I checked up on Grant, I found some disturbing things." "Disturbing?" "He has virtually NO background on file. None whatsoever." Margaret's eyes crinkled, and she took the paper from Mulder. She skimmed it over quickly, and looked up at him. "What do you mean, Fox? This biography goes back to his days in elementary school." "Yes, but there's no record of his birth at all. And when I called his elementary school, they had never heard of a Grant Putnam." Margaret shrugged. "Maybe they forgot about him..." "No. They told me they have records of students going back to the '50's. If he went there, they'd have his name SOMEWHERE." "So they lost his file." Mulder sighed, seemingly a little disappointed. "There's more," he said. "More?" "Yes. It says here that Grant went to Penn State University, and graduated in 1983 with a degree in Biochemistry. I called the university, and they have records of two Grant Putnams graduating from their school. One was in 1952, and we know that's not the Grant we're looking for. The other one was in 1983, with a degree in Biochemistry." "There you go, then," said Margaret, happy that something was panning out. For some reason, the thought that there had been something terrible going on and she hadn't caught it, was too much to bear. "BUT," said Mulder carefully, "when I asked for a description of Grant, a girl in the office there happened to have known him. She told me he was tall, with dark hair, and was half Native American." Margaret suddenly felt her world spin out of control. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she sagged back onto the couch. * * * CONTINUED IN PART B OF PART TWO THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART TWO: SECRET AGENT MAN (continued) Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she sagged back onto the couch. * * * 10:40 am ------------------------------------------- In this room lives the sweet ghost Of a love gone away It comes to me, whispering Things you used to say ------------------------------------------- After making sure that Mrs. Scully was all right - he determined she had simply fainted and then fatigue had claimed her - Mulder laid her out on the couch, and covered her with a blanket. Then he made some coffee, and began to make some notes on all that he had found. He also wrote down all of the strange things that Scully had said to him and her mother. He hadn't thought them strange at the time, but now, after all he had discovered, he wondered how he could have taken them at face value. Then he called Skinner and told him everything he had found out about Grant Putnam. He also asked him to put an APB out on Grant - if only to find him and make sure he was okay, Mulder had said. Although, WHEN Mulder found Grant, he probably wouldn't be okay for long. When he was done, he decided to make a cursory search of Scully's place. She was everywhere in this space. Every shadow in every corner whispered her name. When it wasn't with him, her spirit lingered here, he decided. He thought back to when he had arrived earlier. After almost a year, Mulder had found it strange that sitting in his car outside Scully's place, he could close his eyes, and be transported back in time immediately - back to when they were still partners. After a few seconds, though, his mind had reminded him that this was the present, and Scully was gone - dead. Mulder paced again for a few moments, deciding on a plan. As he did, he refused to react to the fact that he was in Scully's apartment. He couldn't let it get to him. He couldn't allow himself to imagine her here, going about everyday life. If something unusual had happened, he owed it to her to notice it, and not be a basket case. He had to stay calm and professional. Finally, Mulder sat down at her desk, his gaze skimming over things that she touched every day when she had lived here: pens and pencils, Post-Its, disks, her computer, rubber bands...and he felt the tears threaten to spill over again. But he held them back. He had to do this. There might be something here; something that could help him figures everything out. So, Mulder worked for a time - almost an hour - the silence of the apartment closing in around him. He found himself starting at every little sound he heard in the hall; half-thinking it would be the sound of her heels clicking on the floor, announcing her arrival to him. But he never heard those sounds. He never would again. Finally, Mulder couldn't stand the silence any longer, so he turned on her stereo, and found a station that played softer music. He really wanted to put on a station that played loud, crashing music - maybe the Red Hot Chili Peppers or Metallica - something so loud that it would drown out his pain. He wanted to drown out his thoughts and memories - just long enough to finish the task of searching through Scully's belongings. But, he didn't want to wake Mrs. Scully. He knew that she needed rest - just like he did. After searching, and finding nothing of interest in her desk or in her computer, Mulder moved on to the small filing cabinet she kept. He opened the first drawer, and found nothing that would help him. He found the same to be true for the second and third drawers. He crouched down before the fourth drawer, and opened it slowly, knowing that this would be where she would have kept her most sacred things. The first thing his gaze fell on was a picture of him. It was his picture from his Academy graduation. Mulder had no idea how she had gotten it. He lifted that picture away, and found a picture of her lying there. She looked young in it - perhaps it was from her medical school yearbook? He didn't know. After lifting that up and away, what he saw next set the tears in his eyes free: her own X-File. It was a thick stack of reports, pictures, and forensic evidence from her abduction. He picked it up and stood up slowly, turning around to look at the whole room. The song playing softly suddenly registered to him, and he listened for a few moments. The lyrics spoke of a person who completely changed overnight. A tidal wave of emotions cascaded over him. It was true. The person who had been Fox William Mulder had faded away when Scully had died. Just as the Scully he had known for five years had seemed to wither away right in front of him that awful night she told him she was getting married. Mulder was no longer the man he was last year. Nothing was the same for him - nothing mattered - as long as she was gone. He began to shake as the song continued, the singer asking why they had ever learned to love. Mulder understood that feeling all too well. There had been times in the past year - and most certainly in the past few days - when he wondered if it would have been better if he had never opened his heart to Scully at all. And late at night, there were even times when he wished he never loved her - at least he would have been spared this pain. He should have known better than to let her close. He should have known that the moment he allowed someone close was the moment they left - or were taken away. As the song continued, anger built within Mulder. Anger that he had let Scully close enough that her leaving - her death - could wreck him like this. Anger that she had been taken from him, because he DID love her. Anger that he hadn't been able to save her. Anger that he had never gotten the chance to tell her he loved her; to hold her, kiss her, make love to her. Scully had been the only light in his dark world; the only beacon of hope in the storm-tossed sea that he had traveled for years. She was his guardian angel - his one true protector. She and she alone could have been the one that he would have let totally inside. She was the only one he would have allowed to love him. And she was the only one for whom he would willingly die. She was the only one he would ever love. Suddenly, the anger overcame him, and he threw her file across the room in a rage, feeling satisfied when it smashed against the far wall, papers flying everywhere. He saw the picture of her in Duane Barry's trunk glide to the floor, heard the papers and folders flutter to the ground, and his face crumpled. All of those papers were just another reminder of another time when he had failed her. Why hadn't he told her how he had felt long ago? Why had he let so much time slip by? They could have been together, but instead he had let his fear guide and rule him and now he would never get the chance to tell her. Never. A low moan escaped his lips as he sank to the floor, reaching for her picture - which had somehow floated back to him - and held it against his chest. Mulder didn't know when Scully had become such an intrinsic part of his soul. He didn't know at what moment his heart had reached out to hers, offering her love, but he felt like he had loved her forever. Now, he had lost her forever. He let the tears fall. * * * 12:33 pm ------------------------------------------- A heart full of words left unspoken I'd sell my soul to have this silence broken She was my once-in-a-lifetime Happy ending come true I thought she knew ------------------------------------------- Somewhere, he heard someone saying his name. His hated first name. "...Fox...Fox...wake up..." Mulder opened his eyes, and found Mrs. Scully looking down at him. She looked a little better than she had earlier this morning, and Mulder decided that the rest must have done her good. If only he could sleep so easily. Every time he tried, Scully's spirit made an appearance. "Fox, why don't you get up off the floor, and come rest on the couch?" Mulder nodded, and as they walked to couch, he noticed that she had picked up all the papers. He also noticed that he still had Scully's picture clutched against his chest. "I'm sorry about the mess," he mumbled, his head throbbing. Mrs. Scully nodded, and rubbed his back, as she helped him sit down on the couch. "It's all right. Don't worry about it." Mulder looked up at her, a helpless, pitiful, lost look on his face. "I didn't find anything, Mrs. Scully. Not in her desk or filing cabinet, anyway." "That's okay. I didn't think there would be anything in them anyway. If Dana were hiding something, she would keep it in a more private, personal place." "Like where?" asked Mulder, gently rubbing the picture he held next to his heart. Margaret moved aside the Bible she had been reading, and sat down next to him. "I'm not sure. In her bedroom, maybe." But Mulder's mind had already found a bit of something to make a leap. "Wait. Where did you get that Bible?" he asked, pointing to the book on the coffee table. Margaret looked a bit confused, but she answered. "From the bookshelves in Dana's bedroom." Mulder sat forward, carefully placed Scully's picture on the coffee table, and grabbed the Bible. "I can't believe I forgot..." "Forgot what? Fox, you're not making any sense." Mulder didn't answer as he flipped through the text, trying to find the passage he was looking for. "You said that Scully called this place her 'vineyard', right?" Margaret nodded. "Well, in the bible, in 'The Song of Solomon', there is a passage that mentions a vineyard." He fell silent again, as he skimmed through what were essentially love letters. "Here. The first time it mentions vineyards, it says: 'They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.' Then later on it says: 'Catch the foxes, the little foxes, before they ruin our vineyard in bloom.'" Margaret's mouth fell open. "That has to be more than a coincidence! That must be a reference to you somehow." Mulder nodded. "I think so. And look, she has certain letters from both those lines underlined in red." "Which ones?" Mulder studied the lines for a few seconds. "M, P, F, H, E, X, O, L, and E again." "Well, I'll have to write them down, and try different combinations," said Margaret, rising to get a pen and paper. "I don't," said Mulder, stopping her. Margaret looked at him, and he almost felt more despair than on the day when she begged him to come to the funeral. "You know what it means?" He nodded, feeling like some great force was crushing his throat. "It says: FOX HELP ME." Margaret almost fell back onto the couch. "Oh dear lord," she said, tears in her eyes. "I can't believe this..." Mulder looked away from her and down to the book, wishing to give her a few moments to absorb this new information. As he stared at the pages, he noticed something new. "Scully also has a different phrase highlighted, but none of the words are underlined..." Margaret looked at him expectantly, but he could tell that she was afraid to know. "What phrase?" He sighed and touched the page gently, almost stroking the highlighted letters, and when he spoke it was hard not to imagine saying at least the first part to Scully. "'Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.'" "It seems like she was trying to tell you something, Fox. What do you think it means?" Margaret asked. Mulder ducked his head a bit, feeling the warmth of a blush spread across his cheeks. "To be honest, Mrs. Scully, I think she was describing ME." He finally managed to get the courage to look up at her, and found the shadow of a smile on her lips, despite the tragedy of their situation. Her smile faded all too fast, however, and she said, "But why would she feel the need to describe YOU to yourself?" Mulder shrugged. "She did that, at times. Usually when I needed a pep talk or a bolstering of some sort. It was her way of preparing me for what was to come." Margaret seemed confused and lost in her grief. "But, Fox, why would she try to prepare you for her..." Her words faded away and he saw tears cloud her vision, but she pushed forward after a few moments. "Why would she try to prepare you for 'what was to come' AFTER it had happened?" Mulder looked out to the street again, desperately trying to find a connection somewhere; anything that would make something make some sense. In the end, he could only say what he felt to be true deep inside; what he felt Scully wanted him to take from the passage. "I'm not sure, Mrs. Scully. Maybe something else is coming. Maybe she was preparing me for something else." He sighed. "I just wish I had tried harder BEFORE all of this..." Mulder sank back into the couch, and put his hands over his eyes. Silence reigned as they both tried to control their emotions. But control seemed to be eluding Mulder at the moment. He couldn't believe that all of these clues had been sitting here all along, and he hadn't even bothered to look. He had just accepted Scully's explanation, and left her life. Suddenly, he felt Margaret touching his arm. "Fox, I don't want you blaming yourself for this. None of this was your fault." He opened his eyes and smiled grimly. It appeared that all Scully women could read his mind like it was an open book. "It IS my fault," he said. "Scully left these clues for ME. And I didn't even know that I should be looking for them." Margaret nodded. "But that's just it, Fox. It's like you said. I don't think Dana meant for you to find these things until...after she..." Margaret's voice died away, and she was obviously unable to finish the sentence. Mulder looked away, one tear slipping down his cheek; making it through his granite defense. "I know I said it, but I can't seem to understand her motive, and that's what scares me," he said. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle as a feather. Mulder swallowed hard and looked down at Scully's picture laying on the coffee table. "Because, no matter what Scully did - whether I agreed with it or not - I could always find a REASON for it. It didn't mean I UNDERSTOOD it at the time or even long afterwards, but I could find the reason." Margaret looked at him seriously, her brow furrowed in a way painfully reminiscent of Scully. "And you can't find the reason this time?" He shook his head, feeling wretched. "Not this time, no. None of this makes any sense. What can I possibly do for her now? How can I help her now?" Margaret shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't we see if there isn't anything else she meant for you to find. Do you remember her saying anything that seems strange to you now? Anything at all?" Mulder thought back to the last time he had seen Scully - that awful night when she told him she was getting married, and leaving him. The night she said goodbye. "Actually, there was one thing," he said, looking back at Margaret. "What?" Mulder cleared his throat, and made sure he was composed and could talk about this. "Well, I asked her whom she was going to marry, since I didn't even know she was dating anyone. She said that you told her Grant had a bit of the devil in him." Margaret's brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. Mulder saw the look right away. "What? What's wrong?" "I never said that," said Margaret, shaking her head. "Never." Mulder sighed. "I knew it. I knew that when she said it, it didn't feel right. Scully doesn't talk that way." "Were those her exact words?" Margaret asked. Mulder nodded. "Yes." "Then she was obviously trying to tell you something. But she knew that you wouldn't figure it out until now." Mulder got up again, and began to pace with new vigor. "So everything she left for me, she did so knowing I wouldn't find it until now. After her...death." Margaret nodded, her eyes shining with tears. She cleared her throat. "Okay...anything else?" Mulder consulted the notes he had made. "Yes. One more thing. When her lawyer gave me Scully's cross, he told me that he had something to tell me. Something that Scully wanted him to say when he gave me the cross." "What?" "He quoted a line from Luke: 'For this son was dead, but now he is alive; he was lost, but now he has been found.' Then he told me that Scully said that when I lost hope, I should look to the book that comes from." Both of their gazes returned to the Bible. Mulder picked it up again, and paged through until he got to Luke. "More letters underlined," he proclaimed, when he found the right passage. "I don't know if I want to know what it says," said Margaret, fear in her voice. "She has the following letters underlined: F, T, I, A, D, B, N, W, E, I, S, I, E, T, A, D. But she also has one of the D's underlined twice. I think that means I should use it twice." Margaret had marked down the letters on a piece of paper, and looked at them carefully. After a few moments, she threw the pen down. "Fox, this is pointless! We'll never figure that out! There aren't any clues! How can we possibly know where to start?" Mulder looked at her, slightly disappointed that she was giving up so quickly. Scully would never have given up like this. "We just start," he said, his voice cold. Margaret sighed as she watched Mulder begin to put the letters into various words and phrases. "You amaze me, Fox," she finally said. Mulder was momentarily shocked by her candor, but soon recovered. "You must be the only one," he replied, still not looking at her. If he looked at her, she would see the pain and the tears in his eyes. "Don't be so self-deprecating, Fox. You are very dedicated - especially where Dana is concerned. She was lucky to have you as a partner." Mulder grunted in derision. "I didn't seem to bring her much luck when it counted," he said, blame worming its way around his heart, closing his throat with self-hatred and disgust. He should have been able to help her... But perhaps he could help her now. As Mulder worked, he hoped that Mrs. Scully couldn't guess his new secret as easily as she had guessed that he loved Scully. He was now harboring some new hope. A hope that maybe Scully wasn't dead. * * * 2:21 pm Mulder had been working steadily for two hours, and he had come up with many different words. But none seemed to strike a chord with him. None, when he said them to himself, sounded like something Scully would leave for him. He had just started in on a new round of words, when Margaret came into the living room carrying a cup of tea. "Fox, I think it's time to stop now." He didn't even look at her. "No." "Fox, you need a break. You probably aren't even thinking straight anymore." And suddenly, Mulder was up and close to her. He towered above her, breathing quickly. "I've never been thinking more clearly." Margaret's eyes widened and she took a step back, exhaling quickly. She moved back to the couch, put the mug down on the coffee table, and chewed a bit on her lip. After a few seconds of tense silence, Mulder decided that he had been a little harsh. "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry. I-" "It's all right," she said, cutting him off. "I'm just not used to seeing you like this; consumed and intense." Mulder shrugged. "It's how I get when I'm on a case. It took Scully a while to get used to it, too. I'm sorry if I scared you." She shook her head, dismissing that last statement. "Fox, I just don't want you thinking something that's not possible." Mulder didn't answer her, but he could feel the anger he had tempered seconds ago firing to life again. Why was Mrs. Scully being like this? He walked over to Scully's desk, taking his paper with him. He had been close to the real message, he felt, when Mrs. Scully had interrupted him. "Fox, she's gone. You have to accept that." Mulder whirled to face her in a quick, violent motion. His hazel eyes were on fire, and his fists were balled. He shook his head sadly. "I can't believe you're saying that. There are clues here - messages that Scully meant for me to find. Now, maybe you're right and she meant them as comfort for me after...after she..." Mulder shook his head, and decided to skip that last part. "But maybe, just maybe, she had another idea. What if-" Margaret cut him off, her eyes teary. "Don't you think I would love to believe that? But I can't let myself, Fox. I can't let myself hope or think that she's still alive, and then find out that she's not. I can't go through her death twice. I WON'T." Mulder looked at her, shaking his head again. "Well, then that's where we're different. I would rather have hope, than accept something that might be false." Margaret sank down onto the couch. "Sometimes hope can be worse than accepting the truth, Fox. When Melissa was shot, I let myself hope for her recovery. I told myself she WOULD recover, but she didn't. Looking back, I think it would have been better if I had accepted her condition in the first place instead of deluding myself." Mulder felt all the breath leave his body in a whoosh. Is that what Mrs. Scully thought of him? Did she see him as an unbalanced UFO nutcase that saw little grey men in every shadow? Did she think he was delusional because he hoped Scully was alive? Mulder wanted to say more, but he couldn't think of anything else to say that would convince her. Instead, he went back to Scully's desk, and began working again. Five minutes later, his pencil dropped to the floor. * * * The Offices of the Lone Gunmen Somewhere in Washington, D.C. May 15, 1998 4:54 pm ------------------------------------------- I could let you slip away Just wait for rainy days But wouldn't that be failing us - letting go too soon When everything I am still holds onto you ------------------------------------------- The Lone Gunmen sat in stunned silence after Mulder showed them what he had found. Frohike, especially, was shocked. They sat in their half-lit office completely speechless. Mulder watched them, his eyes bright, his breathing quick - the way he behaved when he had found a big piece of the puzzle to a case. Finally, Byers found his voice. "Mulder, are you saying that you believe that Scully isn't dead?" Mulder nodded, and swallowed dryly. "That's what I believe." "If she isn't dead, where is she? And why would she let you believe she was dead?" asked Byers. Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. That's what we have to figure out. It's got to be something big. " Byers picked up the piece of paper that Mulder had shown them. "But how can you be sure that this is the right message?" Mulder shrugged. "I can't. But that's the only one that felt right to me. I guess we're just going to have to trust my instincts on this one." "Have you considered the possibility that you believe this message to be the right one, because it gives credence to what you most hope to be true?" "I have. But Byers, all the other configurations didn't make sense when I put them together. The words themselves were fine - but I couldn't put them into any sequence that meant anything to me. And I know that Scully left this message specifically for me." Byers looked again at the message. BE SAFE DIDN'T DIE WAIT "She's alive, guys," said Mulder, looking at them, and though there were tears in his eyes, some of the light had returned. "I can feel it." Frohike got up and left the room, and Mulder was sure he could hear him sniffling as he went. "So what do you need from us?" asked Langley. "Well," said Mulder, "I want you to find anything you can on Grant Putnam." "Scully's husband?" Mulder nodded. "Yes. Something big went on here guys, and it wasn't a happy wedding ceremony. Scully once told me that her mother said that Grant 'had a bit of the devil in him.' But I asked Mrs. Scully, and she said she never said that. Obviously, Scully was trying to tell me that Grant was not what he seemed - that he was somehow evil or violent. Now, I already did a background check on him, and nothing in his bio checked out. So I thought that maybe you guys could find something on him." Byers smiled, and patted Mulder on the back. "We'll do whatever we can to help you, Mulder." "AND Scully," Mulder added. Byers smiled again, nodding. "AND Scully." * * * CONTINUED IN PART THREE THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART THREE: REASON TO BELIEVE Four Weeks Later Mulder's apartment Alexandria, Virginia June 11, 1998 12:01 am ------------------------------------------- Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you Angels have no thought of ever returning you Would they be angry if I thought of joining you? ------------------------------------------- Four weeks later, Mulder sat on his couch in the darkness, a mostly empty bottle of Vodka beside him, as a CD played softly in the background. The song was morose and depressing and was about someone leaving someone. Mulder's face was awash in stubble and the circles under his eyes had grown darker each day. It looked like an artist had taken a great amount of black paint and smudged it under his eyes. His once bright, intelligent hazel eyes were, to all outward appearances, dead. He lifted the bottle to his lips for the hundredth time that night, and took a long drink. The bitter liquid burned a trail down his throat, and he savored the discomfort. He wanted it, because it numbed the pain that held his heart and soul in a terrible grip. In the weeks that had passed since he had made his discovery, he had found nothing else. Not one more clue. The Lone Gunmen had turned up nothing on Grant Putnam. For all outward appearances, the man didn't exist. At least he wasn't in any official records. Skinner's APB had produced no leads. He had worked long into the night every night for the past four weeks, searching every piece of evidence and every clue for some kind of lead. He had even tried to get in touch with his old contacts and sources from the X-Files. Most of them hadn't even bothered to reply, and the ones that had answered him, hadn't really tried to find him any information. Even good old Danny had found nothing. Mulder hadn't slept in he couldn't remember how long, and he only ate when he was too weak to keep working. But no trace of Scully had been uncovered. Mrs. Scully refused to believe that he was right, and she hadn't called him since he left her at Scully's place. He knew that in another week or two, she would start visiting Scully's grave. It felt all too familiar to Mulder. The memory of going with Mrs. Scully to chose a gravestone for Scully still haunted him. She hadn't been dead then, and for while, it seemed as though, this time, she were also still alive. But so much time had gone by with no leads or clues. Not even a sign. Nothing, except for the feeling inside him that she just COULDN'T be gone. She wouldn't have left those messages for him to find after she was dead. It didn't make any sense. What good would they do him if she were dead? But endless days had passed, bringing with them no new discoveries, and Mulder was beginning to doubt himself. He was starting to wonder if the message he had been so sure was right, was actually wrong. He was beginning to doubt that Scully was alive. After her abduction, when she had been returned to him, he had promised himself that he would never let something like it happen again. He would never again let her vanish without a trace...to fade away like a soft breeze. But that's exactly what she had done. And this time, he feared that something far worse than The Smoking Man had her. He feared that Death had her in its dark, timeless embrace. Her presence was all around him this night, as it always was. When he closed his eyes, he saw her. When he dreamed, she was there. When he woke from the fitful moments of sleep he managed to have, her image lingered. But she never stayed. She always left him. He couldn't bear it any longer. Leaving the bottle behind, he got to his feet and walked over to his desk. Opening the middle drawer, his eyes fell on the one thing that would set him free. The only thing that would cast him adrift and hopefully send him sailing off towards Scully - wherever she was. And for the first time since finding that message from Scully, he smiled. Mulder pulled the gun out of the drawer and moved back to the couch. Sitting down, he pushed the gun flat against his stomach, inhaling shakily. He had decided that he had been wrong - and Scully HAD died that night. If she had, then he knew that she was waiting for him. "I'm coming home, Scully," he said softly. There was nothing left for him here. He had abandoned the X-Files long ago - some months after her marriage. Without her to guide him - to ground him - he was useless. He had felt like a kite floating aimlessly once it had been let go. Without her science to lend them credulity, the files themselves became mere fodder for tabloids. Those things, coupled with his complete lack of interest, gave the FBI its chance to close the X-Files once and for all, and move him back to profiling for the VCS. When he had learned that the X-Files were finished, he hadn't even fought it. Without Scully, they didn't mean anything to him anymore. He could still remember how Skinner looked when Mulder told him he didn't care that the X-Files were being shut down - for good, this time. \\::\\:://::// Seven Months Earlier FBI Headquarters Assistant Director Skinner's Office November 12, 1997 6:32 pm ------------------------------------------- My hands are barely holding up my head I am so tired of looking at my feet All the secrets that I keep My heart is barely hanging by a thread ------------------------------------------- Mulder stood leaning against the wall outside of Skinner's office, his head back and eyes closed, his hands in his pockets. People passed by intermittently, unnoticed by him. He had been waiting, now, for over 15 minutes. He wondered why Skinner was making him sweat it out like this. All Mulder wanted was to go home, where some cold leftover Chinese take-out and another mindless episode of "I Love Lucy" awaited him. Opening his eyes, Mulder looked across the hall at the chairs there. How many times had he and Scully sat in those chairs, waiting to be called to the executioner? How many times had they sat there, Scully looking at him with worry and affection in her eyes? How many times had it just been the two of them against the world? And when she looked at him that way, how many chances had he had to take her hands into his own and tell her that she meant more to him than anything? So many times...so many chances...and he had wasted them all. Blindly, he had let them all pass by, certain that another opportunity would come along when he had time to deal with it. But there was always a case to investigate - always a conspiracy to untangle - and his chances came and went until Scully stopped offering them. Instead, she had met someone else and made the offer to him, and he had NOT let it pass HIM by. And Mulder was left alone to wonder how he could have been so stupid and insensitive as to take Scully for granted that way, thinking she would always be there. Suddenly, the sight of the chairs and the memories they held sickened him, and he closed his eyes again, hanging his head. He had to get out of there... "Agent Mulder?" Mulder looked up to find Skinner standing in the open doorway of his office. "Sir?" "You can come in now, Mulder. Sorry for the wait," Skinner said brusquely, as he turned and walked back into his office. Mulder nodded and followed, walking slowly. Skinner sat down in the plush chair behind his desk as Mulder sank into one of the hard chairs that sat before it. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here," Skinner began, leaning forward, his arms covering a multitude of papers. He shook his head. "Not really." Why didn't Skinner just tell him whatever it was he had to tell him? Mulder just wanted to go home - now more than ever. "'Not really'?" parroted Skinner. "You aren't the least bit curious? You're not angry because I kept you waiting when I'm sure there's a new conspiracy brewing as we speak?" Mulder sighed and shook his head again. God, he was tired, and until that moment, he hadn't realized how *tired* he was of this whole game. The shady informants, the clues slipped underneath doors, the cases that never seemed to have any real answers, the thousand conspiracies...all of it was so tiring to him now. So pointless and useless - empty. "If there IS a conspiracy brewing, sir, I couldn't care less about it," he finally answered, his voice sounding old to even his own ears. He watched as something strange passed over Skinner's face. Mulder wasn't sure, but it seemed like a mixture of shock, disappointment, and sadness. Skinner leaned back in his chair slightly, obviously unsure how to proceed. "Is this about Agent Scully?" Skinner finally asked, his voice softer than usual, almost reverent. Mulder didn't look away, even though his chest constricted painfully and it felt like his throat was going to close up. He stared right at Skinner, his gaze unflinching. A few moments passed by in this manner, until finally, Mulder said, "If you're waiting for an answer, you'll be waiting a long time." Skinner nodded as though he had gotten the answer anyway, and for a brief moment, anger flooded through Mulder in a hot tide, and he curled his fingers around the arms of the chair so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He was about to say something that would probably get him in trouble when Skinner spoke. "I thought you were going to fight me about what I have to tell you, Mulder, but from your comments here tonight, I don't think you will." This time, Mulder did look away, down at his shoes. "I think I'm through fighting, sir. There doesn't seem to be much of a point to it anymore." "Mulder, I called you here tonight because of a memo I received this morning," Skinner said, holding up a piece of paper. "Memo?" "It's from Kersh. In it, he says, 'It has come to my attention that the X- Files Division has solved no cases in four months and filed no *new* cases in two. There is no evidence to support that this unit is active in any way. Effective immediately, the X-Files unit of the FBI will be permanently closed. Agent Mulder, the only agent still assigned to the X-Files, will be re-assigned to VCS, in a profiling capacity. There will be no motions or hearings allowed on this matter.'" Mulder listened closely, but none of the words really made an impact. He was long past caring about anything they referenced. Besides, they merely stated the truth: he had forsaken the X-Files. That which had once been his life's work had become a burden that he no longer cared to carry. "Mulder?" The sharp tone in Skinner's voice brought Mulder back to the present. He looked at his superior. "Sir?" "Did you hear what I just read?" Mulder nodded. "Yes, sir. I heard it." "Don't you have anything to say about it?" Mulder shrugged. "I think that Kersh is right." Skinner's mouth fell open, incredulous. "You think *Kersh* is right? Mulder, this is your life's work we're talking about. Every time they've tried to close the X-Files in the past, you fought them tooth and nail. What's different now?" Scully's gone, Mulder wanted to say. Can't you see that? She left me because I was a workaholic who always put his feelings aside. She's gone and without her, the X-Files don't mean a damn thing to me. He didn't say any of that. Instead, he stood up, running a hand through his hair. "That was a long time ago, Skinner. Back then, the X-Files made a difference, but everything has to end sometime. Everything outlives its usefulness. I think THIS is their time. Just let them die. They've been dead a long time now, for me." Skinner looked lost and confused and dazed. "Mulder..." he began, seeming to gather his thoughts for a debate. Mulder found it sadly ironic that the man who used to be their biggest detractor was now ready to convince HIM to fight for the X-Files. Maybe if Scully were still with him, Mulder would have considered it. If he had her strength and science and friendship and love to count on, he could have endured the hassles of breathing life back into the files. Without her, it all seemed so pale and shallow... In the end, Mulder only shook his head. "Just let it go, Skinner. It's over, and in a way, I'm glad. I don't think I could do it anymore - not alone." That was the only concession he would make to Skinner, concerning Scully and her absence. Before Skinner could comment on it, Mulder spoke again. "Let me go back to profiling. It's what I do best, anyway." Mulder turned, then, and began to walk out of the office. He got to the door before Skinner's voice stopped him. "Mulder?" Mulder looked back, feeling more tired than ever - as if he were one hundred years old. He felt like a lonely and forgotten soldier - old, world weary, and ready to live out his life in solitude and whatever measure of peace he could find. Mulder watched as Skinner's expression turned melancholy. "Profiling may be what you're best at, Mulder," he said. "But it's not where your heart is..." Suddenly, the pain was back in Mulder's chest, and he felt tears stinging his eyes. He looked down at his shoes again, an image of Scully in his mind. Wherever she was now, his heart was with her. Gulping down a thousand sorrows at what he had lost, he left Skinner's office without another word. \\::\\:://::// Mulder's apartment Alexandria, Virginia June 11, 1998 12:15 am ------------------------------------------- I close my eyes And there in the shadows I see a light You come to me out of my dreams Across the night ------------------------------------------- Mulder took another deep breath that was stronger this time, pushing the memory down, hoping some of the pain would go with it. The feel of the gun in his hand returned to him, and he moved the gun to point towards his temple. He closed his eyes, and his finger began to squeeze the trigger, as his thoughts shrank to only Scully and seeing her again. He felt as though each day that passed took her further away from him. He was sure that he didn't quite remember the exact tone of her laugh anymore, or the way she smiled at him, or the way it felt those few times she had taken his hand. Mulder didn't want to forget her - couldn't let her slip away. He would go to her. The CD played softly in the background. Mulder could feel Scully's memory drifting away from him each night. Each night, his dreams of her grew shorter and less vivid. Of course, if Scully were there, she would say that it was because he was usually too drunk to dream. He could hear her voice in his mind, vivid and bright, as she scolded him: "Mulder, do you really want to drink until you can't remember anything? You're only losing me faster." All Mulder knew was that he wanted to be with Scully again. Wanted to see her, touch her, and love her as he hadn't been able to do in life. That was his deepest regret: never telling Scully how he really felt. Never holding her close and telling her he loved her more than his own life. But he would show her now. Mulder thought of all the people who had sensed this desire in him - the possibility that he would do this, and they had told them that he had to be strong. They had patted his shoulder and said that if he had loved her enough to die for her, he should be able to love her enough to live. But that was a crock of shit, and Mulder knew it. They were preaching this to him from their comfortable houses, with their loved ones close and safe. They weren't sitting in a dark, lonely apartment, memories of the one they loved threatening to be lost from them forever. No, they didn't know how he felt - could never know. Only he knew what it was like to have to fall asleep and wake up with the same thoughts permeating everything he was: Scully was gone...he would never see her again...his soul was shattered. He could not live without his soul. Those people had no right to tell him what he had to do. And he had no reason to listen to them. He was so close. With each passing second, he squeezed harder on the trigger, waiting for death to come. Death and freedom. Freedom and Scully. The CD played on. Mulder couldn't let them drift further and further apart. She had already been lost to him in one way. He couldn't bear to forget her. He squeezed the trigger harder. Suddenly, his phone rang. His head snapped in that direction and slowly, he rose from the couch, gun held before him. Walking quietly to the phone, he looked at it as it rang. He wanted to do this in peace - not with Skinner or Mrs. Scully ringing the phone off the hook. He thought about letting it ring, or even shooting it, but then decided against it. No, he would answer the phone, and give whomever it was a piece of his mind. Teach them to let him the hell alone. With the gun in his right hand, he picked up the phone with his left. "Mulder." There was silence for a few seconds, and normally, Mulder would have made some smart-ass remark, and then hung up. But for some reason, he just stood there, waiting. Finally, he heard breathing. And then, a muffled, scratchy voice that sounded far away. "...Don't speak..." said the person on the other end. Mulder, still in an alcohol-induced haze, wasn't really in the best condition to argue. So, he waited. He could tell that the voice was female, and it sounded slightly familiar, in a dreamy kind of way. "...If you want...information on Agent...Scully's death...come alone to house 223 in Carter, Virginia..." The longer the woman talked, the more Mulder felt that he knew her. "Who is this?" he asked, his mind still not clear, but getting there. "...Not...important...come quickly..." Then the line went dead. Mulder hung up the phone, and was still for a few moments. Suddenly, he threw the bottle of Vodka across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crash, the liquid splattering in five directions - like a star. He hurried into his bedroom to change clothes. He had a trip to make. * * * Carter, Virginia House 223 June 11, 1998 12:05 am ------------------------------------------- You don't need a spaceship They don't know you've already lived On the other side of the galaxy ------------------------------------------- Everything had gone according to plan. Well, MOST of it had gone according to plan. Scully sighed, and shifted positions, ignoring the pain in her right arm. Her gun arm. She twitched at every little creak or groan she heard outside - every little gust of wind. She wasn't sure how long she had been hiding there, crouched in a corner of the dark kitchen, between the stove and the wall. But Scully knew that soon the blood that was running down her arm would begin to affect her. She needed to look at the wound, and try to stop the flow, but she was too afraid to let her guard down. She cocked her head to the right and held her breath as she heard a rustling noise outside. When she had decided it was probably just the wind, she exhaled in relief, and looked around the house. It was small, but that was what she had wanted. She had picked this place out of hundreds, hoping it would serve her well. She moved her right arm again, and a blaze of white-hot pain shot through her arm, blurring her vision with its intensity. Gasping, she tried to keep her arm as still as possible, to alleviate the pain, but it still took minutes for it to die down. "A l-little...pain..." she said to herself, her words slurring, "...and it will b-be over..." Somehow, her familiar mantra wasn't working as well as it usually did. The pain in her arm was severe and stole her concentration. She HAD to chance a look at the wound. But she was so scared. She had spent the last four weeks on the run, and those brief weeks had taught her a lifetime of caution and fear and paranoia. They had changed her from an aggressive, self-confident, strong woman into a wide-eyed woman whose heart nearly exploded at the smallest sound. Those four terrifying weeks had slowly raised her panic to mild hysteria. She had actually made it through most of those four weeks unscathed. Until today. Today, They had caught up with her. Actually, HE had. Grant. Her husband. Scully laughed morosely at that thought. Grant had meant nothing to her - but SHE had meant something to him. She was his life. Or rather, she KEPT him alive. It seemed that the success of their "marriage" had a direct affect on whether or not he would be going on to bigger and better things or to a cold box in the ground. Once she had discovered this weakness of his - this Achilles heel - she had begun to make plans to exploit it. And so, it had become necessary for her to die. When she had agreed to the Smoking Man's terms, she had known that she would never do as he said for the rest of her life. In the back of her mind, she had always had a plan. Back then it had seemed simple - flawless; foolproof. But now, when she looked back and saw what had actually happened, she wondered how she had made it at all. Another stream of blood began its journey down her arm. Scully knew that her time was running out. The wound itself wasn't fatal - but if she kept on losing blood like she was, she wouldn't last long. She looked around the kitchen, and finally spotted the phone. All the way across the room. Cursing herself for losing her cell phone earlier that night, she began taking deep breaths - readying herself for when she would have to move her arm. Finally, she decided that she was as ready as she would be, and using her good arm, she pushed herself up to a standing position. The pain in her arm, loss of blood, and the adrenaline still running through her body made her dizzy, and she swayed slightly, her gun hanging limply in her right hand. When the dizzy spell ended, she took a deep breath, and a step forward. She had to make her call before she lost consciousness. And from the way things were going, she didn't think she had long. She only hoped that he had found her clues, and was still alive. It was slow going, but moments later, mostly ignoring her pain, she was standing before the phone. She picked it up with her left hand, and dialed the number she knew by heart. As it rang, Scully remembered the day when her life had changed forever. \\::\\:://::// CONTINUED IN PART B OF PART THREE THE SPIRIT QUEST by Amy Schatz starbuck@ptd.net PART THREE: REASON TO BELIEVE (continued) It was slow going, but moments later, mostly ignoring her pain, she was standing before the phone. She picked it up with her left hand, and dialed the number she knew by heart. As it rang, Scully remembered the day when her life had changed forever. \\::\\:://::// Fourteen Months Earlier FBI Parking Garage Washington, D.C. April 22, 1997 7:11 pm ------------------------------------------- This time I'm not gonna stay This time you have got to pay This time I must get away This time you've gone too far ------------------------------------------- It had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was go home. As she walked to her car, looking forward to some time away from Mulder, she suddenly felt as though someone were watching her. Thinking it was Mulder, she sighed and turned around, her expression somewhere between exasperation and affection. "Mulder..." But her mock admonishment fell away as smoke blew into her face. "Good evening, Miss Scully." "What the hell do YOU want?" she asked, her voice like acid. The Smoking Man smiled. "I only want one thing of you," he said, twirling his Morley around. "I want you to leave Agent Mulder." Scully said nothing for a few moments, as she studied him, deciding on whether he was sincere or just playing with her. "Go to hell," she said, even though she had decided that he was serious. She had to try a bluff first, or she would lose any kind of power she might have. Turning, she began to walk away from him. "If you don't, Mulder will be killed." She stopped dead in her tracks. "I thought that would attract your attention." Scully wanted to turn back and strangle the old man - squeeze until the last of the life was gone from his tired, useless body. Instead, she lifted her chin defiantly, and slowly turned back to face him. "If you really wanted to kill Mulder, you could have done it long ago." The man nodded. "Perhaps once, long ago, Mulder could have been killed and no one would have noticed. But now...now he has a spotlight on him. Killing him now is something I reserve only as a last resort." "That's bullshit," Scully said matter-of-factly. "You've killed lots of other people who had a 'spotlight' on them. You kill others without so much as a moment of remorse, but you allow Mulder to run after YOUR secrets every day. Why is that?" The Smoking Man took another drag on his cigarette, appearing casual, but inside, Scully knew he was scrambling for a better lie. At long last, he exhaled. "Very well, Miss Scully. Mulder has...a purpose." Scully couldn't believe that he had actually admitted something like that to her. Of course, she wasn't ready to accept it as gospel, but it was closer to the real reason than anything else he had told her before. "So then why should I believe that you'll kill him if I don't leave?" asked Scully, looking around the parking lot, making sure no one else was there. The Smoking Man took another drag on his Morley. "Because, Miss Scully, I am desperate." Scully's eyes widened. She had never expected this man to admit to desperation. "You're lying," she breathed, sure she was right. He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Mulder has gotten too close to the truth recently, and I can't risk him getting closer, no matter how important he might be. My...associates would not be very comfortable with his continued...persistence, and if they are upset, I get nervous...and desperate." Scully laughed hollowly. "Well, it seems that you have some problems, then." She turned again to walk away. "Don't underestimate me, Scully!" he called after her. "I have a man waiting in my car. If this little...discussion of ours doesn't go well, he WILL kill Mulder." Scully stopped again. She hadn't gotten very far. "You really are serious, aren't you?" she asked, her voice incredulous. "I am. Mulder must be neutralized...and I prefer it to be accomplished without killing him. You're the one person who can do it." She turned back to him. "My leaving won't stop Mulder. It will only make him worse." The Smoking Man shook his head, a sneer on his face. "Oh no, you're wrong again, my dear. The last time I took you from Mulder, he turned into a quivering imitation of the man he had been. He all but abandoned his work, in favor of wallowing in grief and looking for revenge, and that was only after two years together. I would have kept you from him forever, but that first time was simply an experiment - as much for him as for you. But THIS time, THIS way, will stop him for good. You have been through quite a lot together, and I imagine you are very close...bonded." Scully couldn't believe how casually he talked about her abduction, her pain, his plans to rip her from Mulder's life, and his part in all of it. His orchestration of it. "You have NO conscience, do you?" He smiled evilly. "At the moment, a conscience would only be a detriment to my agenda." Scully looked away, thinking it through. "If I do this - IF - how will I know that you just won't kill Mulder anyway?" "As I said, Miss Scully, Mulder is important to my cause. Besides, his death would only bring undue light onto my colleagues and myself. Therefore, it is not something I want to do. If you leave, Mulder will be safe. I am quite confident that your leaving will all but end Mulder's fervor to find the Truth." She nodded, suddenly accepting it. It was now obvious that he was serious. What choice did she have? She would do anything for Mulder, and if leaving him would keep him alive she would do it. It would break her heart and ruin her, but she would do it. "What do I have to do?" she asked, her voice soft, her spirit broken in a moment. The Smoking Man smiled again. He looked past Scully and motioned to someone. She looked to where he had, and saw a tall, blonde- haired man step out of a dark sedan. Mulder's would-be assassin, she knew. "This," said The Smoking Man, "is the man you are going to marry." Scully's whole world seemed to shift into slow motion, and she swore she could hear her own heart thundering in her ears. Marry? He wanted her to marry the man that they would have used to kill Mulder? Her stomach roiled in disgust. Her eyes widened in shock and she stepped away, ready to change her mind. "Getting married is part of the deal, Scully. It is the only way that your leaving can be justified." "No," she said, her teeth clenched, her eyes like blue fire. "The marriage won't be real, Scully. Mr. Putnam is just my way of keeping tabs on you." "You want me to...to marry the man that was going to kill Mulder?!" Scully shouted, her eyes as cold as ice. "I couldn't stand one minute with him, let alone marriage. You ask too much," said Scully, not able to bear the thought of marrying anyone but...and certainly not Mulder's killer. The Smoking Man looked down at her as he let his used cigarette fall to the asphalt. "I see. There are some things you will do to save Mulder's life, and some things that are just too hard. You put a certain price on his life." He squashed the cigarette with practiced ease. Scully looked horrified. "Of course not!" she hissed. "Then I don't see what the problem is. If you still want to save Mulder's life, you will leave the X-Files, and you WILL marry Mr. Putnam." Scully looked away, out at the road. She refused to look at The Smoking Man, or the tall man with the blonde hair. As she listened to the spring breeze blowing through the parking garage, she tried to think of an alternative. None came to her. She had no choice...Mulder's life was in her hands now. However, it just so happened that his heart was as well, and doing this would break it apart. "Fine," she said, her voice even and emotionless. "You have a deal." \\::\\:://::// Carter, Virginia House 223 June 11, 1998 12:16 am Scully was brought out of her reverie by the sound of the voice she had been missing for almost a year. "Mulder." He sounded a little strange, but he was alive. She took a deep breath to push the pain down as far as she could. "...Don't speak..." She cursed herself for not handling the pain better. It wasn't as if she had never been shot before, for God's sake! So, she gathered up all her strength, and spoke again. "...If you want...information on Agent...Scully's death...come alone to house 223 in Carter, Virginia..." She listened, and knew that Mulder was contemplating her words, deciding if she should be trusted. For that she was glad. She was fairly certain that he didn't recognize her voice. And she was pleased that at least he was still cautious. As the seconds passed, Scully felt herself growing weaker and weaker, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to talk for much longer. Finally, she heard him ask, "Who is this?" She couldn't waste time convincing him. "...Not...important...come quickly..." She managed to drop the phone back onto the cradle before she fainted. * * * Carter, Virginia Outside house 223 June 11, 1998 1:20 am ------------------------------------------- When I see you now I wonder how I could have watched you walk away If I let you down please forgive me now For that beautiful goodbye ------------------------------------------- Mulder stepped out of his car wearily. The drive had not refreshed him, as he had thought it would. Instead, he was more tired than he had been, and now he had the feeling that this whole thing was a trap, and he was no longer at the top of his game, as he had once been. Since Scully left him a year ago, he had grown careless and sloppy. He no longer spent his nights with an "X" taped to his window. He didn't wake and check his newspaper for some special clue or coded message. He didn't hear clicks in his telephone anymore. He didn't spend his days trying to uncover conspiracies, somehow avoiding death at every turn. Ordinarily, he spent his days writing and presenting profiles. At night, he usually got some take-out, but ended up eating half or none of it. Then he would lie on his couch watching the old sit-coms on Nick-at- Nite because they numbed his brain and let him fall into a dark, dreamless sleep. He just didn't know if he was up to the cloak and dagger routine tonight. Mulder sighed. Not for the first time, he wished he had been left alone to his task. He wished he were with Scully. But, he decided that as long as he had made the trip, he might as well look around. Pulling out his gun, he looked around the outside of the house. He saw nothing suspicious, so he walked up the steps slowly, listening to every sound. When he got to the door, he tried the kno